


Rainy Days

by ardvari



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 23:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardvari/pseuds/ardvari
Summary: Sam and Jack spend a rainy day at the cabin





	

**Author's Note:**

> Last Saturday I helped my parents stack wood, which involved throwing it up to a wood shed on the second floor (sounds weird, but it's actually a pretty ingenious design). While I stood in the rain for three hours, occupied by the mindless task of throwing wood, I came up with this.

**Rainy Days**

He wakes to rain pelting the windows, gusts of wind rattling the frames. It’s early October and this is what the weather is supposed to be like this time of year. Sam’s still out cold beside him, her body tucked neatly against his. She’s been off the Hammond for a couple of weeks now, still has another two weeks before she’ll take over command at the SGC. They’re going to promote her to General in the process, too. 

He thinks he might finally be able to retire, knowing she’ll be on Earth, safer than she’s been in over a decade. They probably won’t let him go completely, his knowledge is far too valuable, but maybe he can come back as an advisor. Maybe he can hang out at the SGC and pester her. Pester them all. 

He can already picture the good times with her, and the bad ones, too. Standing shoulder to shoulder at the briefing room window, holding the door for a team that’s late, or lost. It’ll be her burden to carry, but maybe he can help ease the load a little. He can see himself sitting in her office, watching her frown at the paperwork, filing it meticulously. She’ll be perfect as commander of the SGC. She’s been groomed for the position from the moment Hammond told him that her being on his team was not negotiable. 

She stirs against him, the cold tip of her nose brushing against his shoulder. All he wants is this, waking up next to her on as many mornings as he possibly can. 

Despite the weather he goes outside to chop wood, because maybe they can spend Christmas here at the cabin this year, just them and a warm fire and the snow falling in thick flakes. He chops and swears, and when Sam comes out, stacking the wood against the side of the cabin, she grins at him. Rain is dripping off the brim of her hat, reminding him of all the times he sat across from her at a campfire, raindrops sizzling in the fire as the temperature dropped below comfort level.

There’d been a time when they’d been okay, sharing laughs and stories or sitting lost in their respective thoughts. And then there’d been the time after the za’tarc incident, after they’d been memory stamped on that icy planet, when he’d looked at her across the fire and all he’d seen was Thera. Thera, who had shared his bunk, crawling in next to him when everyone else was sleeping, pushing her body against his. Just soft skin and heat and big blue eyes.

He’d tried to avoid sharing a tent with her afterwards because, inevitably, the fact that they were both cold and that the rain outside never ceased to fall, led to her being tangled around him, instinctively seeking out his warmth while she slept. It had just made things harder, less bearable, and they’d still had to save the planet, the galaxy, the universe.

He watches her now, the way she bents and picks up wood, stacks it with the precision of someone doing a puzzle. The ends of her hair are wet, silver drops clinging to them. Her hands are probably as clammy as his but she doesn’t complain. She’s always liked being outside, even more now, after her last stint on the Hammond. She’s been living on a spaceship for the past six months with nothing but metal and recycled air around her, being out here in the rain, getting her hands dirty and her feet soaked, is her way of proving to herself that she’s still alive, still a resident of this planet. 

Chopping wood is hard work, and his desk job has not been kind to him. He’s gained a lot of useless weight in his time at Homeworld Security. He could blame her, or himself, for refusing to leave, for eating fast food while he waited for their weekly databurst, for the opportunity to watch her face swim up on the screen at the headquarters. More often than not he’d been there when, technically, Walter could have done the honours for him, could have just as easily listened to her status updates, and could have relayed everything to him. But he’d liked seeing her face on those few opportunities, because it gave him a chance to catalogue the lines on her faces and the worry in her eyes. 

He rests his wrists on the axe’s handle, its sharp tip buried in another chunk of wood. He huffs a little, watches as she collects another few chunks to stack up. 

“Like what you see?” she teases, stopping to plant a kiss on his lips.

“Always.”

He wonders if, were Daniel or Teal’c here, they’d be able to see the fever spark in her eyes too, clammy fingers resting just a fraction too long on his hand to be playful and nonchalant. 

It takes them a couple of hours to chop and stack all the wood. It’ll last them a while, and they won’t be able to burn this particular batch for at least a year because it’s too wet. It’ll wreak havoc with his chimney. It’d be a fire hazard. He just likes knowing that there’s enough wood here to last them for a few years, in case of a zombie attack, or the very real possibility of a galactic war that will involve Earth directly.

She puts the last few pieces of wood on top of the stack and drapes the tarp across it, rubbing her hands when she turns to him, smiling again. He grabs her hand, holding it on the way through the rain, up onto the slippery deck that leads to the living room. 

“Lunch?” he asks, pushing open the back door. The cabin is warm; she made a fire before she came outside.

“Shower first,” she answers.

“I could make lunch while you shower,” he offers.

“Or you could come have a shower with me.” There’s that fever spark again, the slow half smile. 

“Or that, yes,” he says. 

He trails her into the small bathroom with its odd angles and ledges. When his grandfather built this cabin there’d still been an outhouse. This bathroom is an addition, and one that is comfortable and a little strange, built like an afterthought. 

She’s already peeling off her jacket and he can see that the shoulders of her shirt are wet, too. Soaked through and through. When he puts a cold hand on her spine, draws it down to the clasp of her bra she shudders, turning around to face him. He lifts the bra straps off her shoulders and leans in for a kiss, her hands already making quick work of the buttons of his shirt. She pulls it off of him, drops it on the heap of wet clothes that will surely leave puddles on the floor. 

The water warms up slowly, the pipes clanking a little. She pushes him back against the sink, kisses him thoroughly. Her skin smells like rain and fresh wood, like freedom. He lets his hands explore, cupping the soft weight of her breasts, flicking his thumbs over her nipples until they pebble up. Her eyes are dark when she pushes off her pants and underwear. She steps away from him, toeing off her socks before she steps into the shower, hissing a little because the water feels so hot against her cool skin. 

He’s not the youngest anymore, and he’s not in great shape either, and his knees are crap. If she wants to have sex in this shower she’s probably already figured out a way to make it work somehow, taking all that into account. Carter’s like that, she’s probably figured it out while she was stacking wood with the same precision and care she takes when she’s disassembling a piece of alien tech. 

And so he follows her beneath the warm spray, lets her wind her arms around his neck, lets her press her body flush against his. He’s always loved kissing her; it’s one of those things he can’t get enough of. They’re both slick from the water; skin rendered even more soft than usual. His hands slide up and down her sides, cup her cheeks, his fingers tangling in her wet hair. He pulls her head back gently and lets his tongue follow the trail of her carotid, her pulse reverberating against his lips. 

She’s quick and a little sneaky too, and when her hand wraps around his cock he groans a little. She smirks against his lips, against the line of his jaw. 

“God, Carter,” he says when her fingers trail up and down his length lazily. He’s already hard, bracing his hands on the cool tiles on either side of her head.

He has no clue how she’s going to make this work and yet, somehow, it does. There are ledges in this shower, a little slippery but good enough for her to step up on one, wrap her other leg around his waist and leaning back against the wall. She arches her back a little because the tiles are cold, then smiles at him again. There’s water and warmth everywhere, and when he slides his hand between her legs he finds her slick and wet. Ready. 

There’s some fumbling and she giggles a little, one hand pressed flat against the tiles behind her while the other one wraps around his nape, her thumb stroking through the short hairs there. He finally slides into her, slowly, carefully, holding her up a little so she doesn’t slip. She moans, leans forward and sucks his bottom lip between her teeth. 

It’s more than a little awkward because they’re not teenagers and they should know better, but when he starts to move against her it all somehow works.

“Don’t lemme fall,” she mumbles against his lips, slurring her words a little. 

He rocks against her, in and out, aware of the things she likes and the things she doesn’t, the things she finds distracting and the things that make her scream. It amazes him sometimes how well she’s allowed him to get to know her, that she’s bared everything for him when sometimes he just can’t. When his past is too scary, locked away too safely for even her to break through that wall. 

He won’t last long like this, and neither will she, and so he slips his hand between their bodies, strokes her clit, makes her hum softly. He can feel the tension building, feels it in the way she wraps her leg tighter around him, the way she lets her teeth scrape along the side of his neck, the way her breathing becomes ragged. 

His thumb on her clit, he pushes into her, whispers to her, eggs her on. “Come for me, Sam.”

It takes her a moment longer, and then she shatters all around him, crying out, her head resting on his shoulder. He stops moving then, feels her shuddering all around him, muscles contracting and relaxing. She’s soft and pliant afterwards, and wraps both arms around him when he starts to move again. 

“Faster,” she whispers, that fever glint in her eyes again. 

She doesn’t come again, just helps him get off now, sighing when he comes, his hips jerking against her. It’s a miracle they stay on their feet, clinging to each other beneath the shower. 

The water is starting to cool a little, and so they hurry through soaping each other up, rubbing shampoo into their hair. They kiss a little, sated and quiet now. 

In the end they eat soup on the couch, wrapped in towels with their feet stretched towards the fireplace. He thinks this is perfect; this is what he’s worked so hard for, all of this. They’ve both survived against the odds and this is their reward, this little corner of happiness.

He kisses the top of her head, slides his hand down her arm to lace his fingers through hers. He can’t see her smile but he can feel it, soaking like sunshine through his skin.


End file.
